Bewitched and Betrothed

by Juliet Blackwell

  He shook his head. “No way, Lily. Elena’s about the most grounded, honest, straightforward person I know. Do you know how hard it was for her to come out to her mother, to tell her she was in love with a woman? But she didn’t pull any punches, said she had to lead an authentic life. Also, she’s a pretty devout Catholic, goes to church every Sunday, and tries to live her faith every day. Now, I’ve been a cop long enough to know that you can never be certain about what’s in somebody else’s heart, so I’ll just say this: Nothing in Elena’s life points toward what you’re suggesting.”

  “Good. I figured. I’m just trying to take everything into consideration, the way my friend the homicide detective told me to do, a long time ago.”

  He gave me a ghost of a smile and stood.

  “Well, I’m headed back to the office. I want to look into the recent whereabouts of one Cole Albright.”

  “At this hour?”

  “You know what they say. No sleep for the wicked.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I let myself into my apartment above the store, and a shape popped out of the kitchen.

  “Mistress!”

  “Oscar! You scared the dickens out of me!”

  “What’s a dickens?”

  “I have no idea, actually. How did you get home?”

  “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “Never mind,” I said, wondering why I bothered to ask such things since he never answered me. “How did things go with the woods folk? Graciela’s coven said they were agitated.”

  “They were a little outta sorts, but you never can tell with those guys. They’re touchy, I tell you what. Lucky Oscar’s on the job.”

  As I started to pull together the ingredients to begin the five-day MoonWish spell, Oscar chatted nonstop about his underworld meeting, which apparently included some scrumptious snacks.

  “Wait—you ate something?” I paused, holding the ancient pestle above the mortar Graciela had given me when I left home. I had filled the stone bowl with a variety of dried herbs and seeds known for their protective properties. “I thought that if you ate fairy food you couldn’t ever leave their realm. Isn’t that part of the folklore?”

  He cackled. “You crack me up! Where’d you read that, in a book of fairy tales?”

  “Maybe. Or . . . I think Aidan might have mentioned it once.”

  He waved a hand. “What Aidan doesn’t know about the woods folk is a lot. That’s why he always left this sort of thing up to yours truly. The fairies aren’t really as scary as they’re cracked up to be. You wear your clothes inside out, maybe ring a few bells, bring some bread, you’re golden. Well, except . . .”

  “What?”

  “Don’t start dancing with them.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you’ll never be able to stop and will dance yourself to death.”

  “Okay, thanks. Safety first.”

  “Anyway, it turns out they do have a favor to ask of you.”

  “They do? That’s progress! What is it?”

  “Get rid of Alcatraz.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “They would like you to get rid of Alcatraz.”

  “You mean get rid of the curse, or the ghosts, or something?”

  He tilted his head. “Nah, pretty sure they want you to get rid of the place.”

  “It’s an island.”

  “More like a big rock, really. Anyway, they’re not unreasonable. You don’t have to get rid of it entirely, or anything.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “Just sink it. Let it be an underwater rock.”

  “Oscar, are you serious? How in the world am I supposed to accomplish something like that?”

  He shrugged. “Did you get potato chips?”

  “No, I haven’t made it to the store yet. I’ve been a little busy.”

  Oscar let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “But,” I said as I took a well-wrapped bundle out of my bag, “I did bring you cake. And pizza crusts. You could dip them in ranch dressing; there’s some in the fridge.”

  “Who would leave behind pizza crusts?” Oscar asked, incredulous, as he ripped open the package.

  “Rosa and Viv only like the ‘soft parts,’ and Caroline is watching her figure and said she didn’t need all those carbs.”

  Oscar munched on the crusts, shaking his head at the mysterious ways of humans. The idea of sinking Alcatraz left him unfazed, but someone walking away from pizza crusts was beyond his reckoning.

  “Oscar, I don’t understand. Why don’t the woods folk like Alcatraz?”

  “There’s something off about it. Always has been, but it’s worse lately. The only ones who like it are the birds. It’s ‘for the birds,’ get it?”

  “Funny.”

  “Ooooh, spice cake with cream cheese frosting. My favorite.” Oscar crammed two of the little cakes in his mouth at once.

  “So let me get this straight: In exchange for allowing me to hold my handfasting in the redwood fairy circle, the woods folk want me to get rid of Alcatraz Island. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Oscar nodded.

  “I know weddings can be costly, but doesn’t that seem a little steep?”

  “The Slovenian Hall’s looking better all the time, am I right?”

  “How am I supposed to sink an entire island? It’s one of the most popular attractions in the whole National Park System, so I’m pretty sure folks would notice if it went missing. Getting rid of it would probably be illegal, among other things.”

  Oscar cackled.

  I heard the sound of Sailor’s boots on the stairs. Good. I needed advice.

  I ran to the door. It swung open, and Sailor strode in: tired and rumpled, and sexy as all get-out.

  “Sailor! I’m so glad you’re here. I need to talk to y—”

  “Lord, I’ve needed you today,” he growled.

  He grabbed me, pushed me up against the wall, and kissed me. I kissed him back, and all questions and concerns fled my mind.

  So much for talking.

  Chapter 11

  At least I wasn’t accosted by nightmares.

  I slipped out of bed at three a.m., trying not to awaken Sailor. Pausing by the bed, I took a moment to savor the scene: His dark hair was rumpled, blue-black stubble shadowed his chin and cheeks, his olive skin was striking against the pure white sheets. There was something about seeing such a big, strong man looking cozy and vulnerable; it always made me wonder what he must have been like as a child. What his own children would be like.

  I sighed, contentedly. Then I got to work.

  Three in the morning was the witching hour; the perfect time to spellcast.

  I consulted my Book of Shadows and finished gathering the supplies the coven had suggested. I used precious frankincense and myrrh oils to “dress” a thick black candle, massaging it while I intoned a charm. Using a mixture of salts and herbs, I drew the five points of the star, concentrating on what they represented: the east, west, north, south, and the sky. The two arms, two legs, and head of our human bodies. The five senses of taste, touch, hearing, sight, and smell. I carved symbols of protection, clarity, and control into the wax of a thick black candle, and then placed it at the heart of the pentacle.

  Then I set about brewing in my iron cauldron. Oscar perched atop a kitchen cabinet, hunkered over gargoylelike, watching and lending his aid. Whenever he was nearby, the portals opened more easily for me, allowing the connections to other ages, other planes to slip through. Even now, I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but there was no denying that it did.

  And yet, even after I cut a tiny x in my palm with my athame and added a drop of my own blood to the cauldron, my guardian spirit—the Ashen Witch—refused to appear in the cloud of steam bursting above t
he brew. Apparently she was still struggling with the traces of Deliverance Corydon within me. This was why I needed Graciela’s coven’s help.

  This, and possibly fighting off demonic forces influencing Renna. Oh, and I was expected to destroy Alcatraz. What in the world? Why would the fairy folk want me to destroy Al—

  I cut myself off. I couldn’t allow myself to go down that rabbit hole. I needed to concentrate. Right here and now the only thing that mattered was lighting the candle, focusing my intent, and starting the five-day countdown toward the full moon.

  Chanting, I closed my eyes and subsumed myself to the long line of ancestral power that had led, over the centuries, to me and to this moment. I set out Calypso’s beautiful mason jar filled with local clover honey—including the honeycomb—as today’s offering, as per the coven’s instructions.

  Finally, I lit the candle. It sparked loudly and blew a huge torchlike flame that nearly struck the ceiling before settling down.

  “So mote it be.”

  My cuckoo clock chimed six thirty. I had lost track of time, which often happens when I cast. No sense in going back to bed now; instead, I started making breakfast and Conrad’s morning brew, a concoction I’d come up with to shore up his strength in his fight for sobriety. Oscar had long since gone to sleep, but bounced out of his cubby over the refrigerator at seven, lured by the tantalizing aromas of biscuits and coffee.

  “I’m famished,” said Oscar, reaching for the honey.

  “Not that one,” I said, handing him another jar. “That’s for a sacrifice.”

  “Who you castin’ against?”

  “A, um . . . demon. Maybe. Hopefully not, but . . . maybe.”

  His bottle glass green eyes grew huge.

  I put the finishing touches on the brew for Conrad and left it to simmer on the stove while I brought Sailor a cup of coffee in bed. He was a grumpy fellow before his morning caffeine.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep. “I missed you.”

  “I’ve been brewing.”

  “For me?” asked Sailor.

  “After a fashion.” I smiled and set a fresh cup of Kona in front of him, spilling a few drops on my coverlet in my zeal. “After all, coffee is an everyday brew, a magical concoction that acknowledges all the elements: beans from the earth, the water, the aroma and steam in the air, and the fire that transforms it all.”

  “Don’t forget the everlasting gratitude of the extremely appreciative man who drinks it.”

  I smiled and perched on the side of the bed.

  A wary look came into his eyes, and he scooted back to sit up against the headboard. “Are you sure this is the best time for our ‘talk’? I was thinking in the evening, over wine . . .”

  “I agree. I don’t think either of us is in the right frame of mind at the moment, and I’ve got to cleanse the shop before opening, and you probably have to run off to do . . . whatever it is that you do. Which, now that I think of it, might be one of those things we talk about when we do, you know . . .”

  “Talk.”

  “Exactly.”

  He took a sip of his coffee and let out a sigh. “All right then, my little witch, what is it you want to talk about while we’re not talking, then?”

  “For one, Patience asked me to meet with your aunt Renna.”

  He swore under his breath.

  “Why didn’t you ask me yourself?” I asked him. “If there’s something I can do to help your family . . .”

  “Listen to me, Lily. I don’t want you going anywhere near Renna, do you hear me?”

  “Of course I hear you. I’m sure half of Haight Street hears you.”

  “Please,” he said in a gentler tone.

  “Why? What’s going on? I might be able to help.”

  He didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on his coffee, but I could see the muscle in his jaw flexing.

  “Patience said there might be some sort of demon-y . . . something?” I ventured.

  “Listen. Renna has some rather sketchy clients. She’ll read for anyone, if they meet her price. Based on what little she’s told me, and what her husband, Eric, knows, it seems a couple of guys came to see her for help locating something specific. Renna performed a discovery reading, and it’s possible there were some inadvertent connections made through the tarot, and things went haywire.”

  “Are you saying she’s possessed?”

  He paused, inclined his head, and then said: “No, I don’t think it’s anything so extreme. But she’s been having trouble sleeping and is highly agitated and quick to anger. With a heightened libido, according to Eric. He was enjoying that aspect of things until he noticed she was not being herself.”

  “Could she have summoned something?”

  “Renna’s an experienced practitioner who knows how to take the proper precautions. I can’t imagine she would be so foolish.”

  “It’s happened to the best of us. In any case, I think Patience is right: Looks like I need to meet with Renna.”

  Sailor swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, every movement agitated. He scooped his jeans off the floor and started to pull them on. I watched; despite his bad mood, I enjoyed studying his naked torso, the movement of the muscles.

  “I don’t want you going anywhere near Renna.” He gestured with his hand. “I’m serious, Lily.”

  “I believe you’re serious,” I said. “What I can’t believe is that you think you have the right to tell me what to do or not do. I have to do what I think is right. Besides, I already promised Patience I’d help.”

  “I didn’t realize you two were such buddies.”

  “We got a little closer when we were working together to get you out of the slammer. In fact, I asked her to be a bridesmaid.”

  “You what?” He threw his head back as though searching the ceiling for an answer to my behavior. “It didn’t occur to you to run that by me?”

  “Not really, no. And speaking of which, who is going stand up with you at the handfasting?”

  “I thought we weren’t having this talk yet. If we are, I need a refill on the coffee, and fast. Maybe add a shot of bourbon.”

  Because talking is that tough? I thought, but did not say. I smelled the minty but slightly rank aroma of Conrad’s brew, which signaled it was ready. It wouldn’t keep. “No, you’re right, I need to start my day, and so do you.”

  “Let me handle Patience. I’m going to see her tonight. I’ll tell her you can’t assess Renna.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Sailor. I promised her I would go, and it’s your aunt we’re talking about. I want to help.”

  “This might all be a moot point, anyway. The family’s gathering tonight, and we might be able to fix whatever’s ailing her.”

  “And if not?”

  He took a deep breath, and I could see the muscle work in his bewhiskered jaw. “You and I aren’t demonologists, Lily. Do you remember what happened when you went up against Deliverance Corydon? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you still dealing with that legacy?”

  “Graciela’s coven is going to help. In fact—”

  “I don’t want you risking yourself again, Lily. The first time I met you was over the demon at the School of Fine Arts, remember? How many times do you think you’re going to be able to face something like that and walk away? Once you’ve met a demon—much less battled one—they never forget you. Remember what happened with your father—it could happen to you, too.”

  “I’m casting a five-day spell to prepare, and I’m stronger and smarter than I was when I dealt with the demon at the School of Fine Arts.”

  He snorted.

  “I don’t need you to protect me, Sailor.”

  “All evidence to the contrary.”

  “Honestly, Sailor. We can’t have that kind of relationship. I need your s
upport, not your . . .” I searched for the word. “Your controllingness.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “It is now. Anyway, I promised Patience, and I consulted with the grandmas, and I’ve started a MoonWish spell. And Carlos is going to take me out to Alcatraz to look at what might be a ritual killing of some sort, and I’m thinking all of this might be connected to Elena’s kidnapping, somehow, and I’m going to have to figure it out.”

  Sailor sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed, leaned his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands. Finally, rubbing his hands over his face, he looked up and shook his head.

  He spoke in a quiet, carefully restrained voice. “Lily, do you ever think about things like this before just leaping in?”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” I said, anger surging through me. “Besides, has it occurred to you that if you and I always stopped to think about being careful, you and I would never have ended up together?”

  Our eyes held for a long moment.

  “I—I have some brew on the stove,” I said, moving toward the door. I felt bad about snapping at him, but the very idea of Sailor telling me what to do rankled. Still, Oscar was right, my patience was in limited supply lately. “I have to get it before it scalds.”

  Out in the kitchen, Oscar avoided my eyes and moved slowly, pretending he hadn’t heard our argument, chewing his biscuits carefully, the deep red of the raspberry jam on his jowls looking disconcertingly like blood.

  I used pot holders to remove the heavy cauldron from the stove, and poured the brew into a mason jar to cool.

  “What’s the brew for?” Sailor asked as he joined us in the kitchen, his jacket and boots already on.

  “For Conrad,” I said. “To help with detox. I told you he was sober.”

  “For how long?”

  “Not long. But he’s trying, and it’s a struggle. I’m hoping this will help.”

  He looked at me a long moment. “I’m sure it will. Just knowing he’s got you on his side will help.”

  “Thanks. Are you going already? No breakfast?”

  “I wish I could. I’m sorry to rush, but I have to go to my place to change before meeting a client at nine.”